Soldier with alternative ending
by Ellie-loves-dogs-and-books
Summary: This is a story in which instead of Tristan stopping the Patriarch, Ember does it herself, in her own way. I changed Ember's character a little, so she is quite a bit more violent than she was in Ms. Kagawa's book, but sh still retains her basic character.
1. Chapter 1

Dawn. On the salt flats just outside the city. Stepping out of the car, I gazed around in amazement. The ground beyond the railing was white, like snow, and stretched away before us, so flat and empty it seemed you were looking at the edge of the world. The splash of red against the horizon seemed a million miles away. Lifting a hand to shield my eyes, I stared over the landscape. There was absolutely nothing out there; no grass, no trees, nothing but a cracked, brittle layer of salt, glittering coldly in the predawn light.

"Well," Riley said, exiting the driver's seat and coming to stand beside me, "this is it. Hell of a place for a duel to the death, St. George. I'd make a comment about rubbing salt in the wound if it wasn't so obvious." He turned as Garret's footsteps crunched over the ground, a moment before he appeared on my other side. "You're absolutely sure this isn't an ambush? I don't like the idea of being out here with the Order, in the literal middle of nowhere."

"I'm sure." Garret didn't look at Riley as he said this, his gaze on the barren flats before us. "The Order is bound by honor and tradition. That's why they let me go when the challenge was issued. If I ran, or refused to show up, the Patriarch would automatically be the victor. There would be no question of my guilt. The same is true for St. George. Two parties agree to meet on neutral ground, and no one except the combatants are allowed to attack or harm the other. If the Patriarch breaks the rules, he declares himself guilty in the eyes of the Order. His seconds are there to ensure the fight is fair, and that everyone heeds the rules."

Riley scoffed. "So, you're saying that the Order of St. George is just going to stand there, in sight of two dragons, and once this duel starts, they're not going to doing anything?"

"Yes." He finally glanced at us, his gaze solemn. "And I need you to do the same," he said. "We're allowed up to three witnesses each, and there's no one else I trust. But..." His gaze went to mine. "Just remember, if I fall, you can't help me or attack the Order. No matter what happens, even if the Patriarch kills me, you can't interfere. Doing so will forfeit the battle and mark us all as the guilty party. And the Patriarch will win. So, promise me, Ember. No matter what happens to me, promise you won't interfere. Even if the worst happens." He reached out and squeezed my arm, his eyes soft. "No turning into a dragon and setting the Patriarch on fire," he said with a faint smile. "That would defeat what we're trying to do here."

I glared at him. "All right, but you'd better win," I whispered, wondering how he could be so calm about this. When he first told me what he had to do, I'd been shocked. A duel to the death with the leader of St. George? I knew Garret was a skilled soldier and that he could handle himself better than any human I'd seen, but still...it was a duel to the death! If he screwed up, or if something unexpected happened, I would lose him. "You can't let him beat you," I said, gazing into his eyes. "You have to win."

He nodded once. "I intend to." And in an even softer voice, added, "I finally have something worth living for."

We started across the flats, the brittle, crusty salt crunching beneath our footsteps. The alien landscape stretched on, white and barren, so empty you could see all the way to the distant, hazy mountains. Nothing moved on the flats, no grass, trees, animals or anything. The only sounds were our footsteps in the salt and the occasional mutter from Riley.

After a couple minutes, a group of small black dots appeared in the distance, growing larger and larger, until I could recognize them as people. A man stood in front, tall and striking, waiting for us with his arms loose at his sides. He was dressed in a uniform of brilliant white accented by red, the symbol of the scarlet cross and shield on his shoulder. A sword, straight edged and lethal with a cross-shaped hilt, hung from his waist.

I felt Garret tense, just as I glanced from what had to be the Patriarch to the three men standing behind him. Two I didn't recognize. One was an older man with dark hair and stern eyes, and the other, with his snow-white beard and black eye patch, was older still. But the last, standing a little ways away and not quite meeting my gaze, was Tristan. All three were armed, but then again, so were we.

We came to a stop about twenty feet from each other, Garret slightly out in front, Riley and me to either side. I looked at the Patriarch, saw the instant, venomous hatred the second our eyes met, and swallowed the growl rising to my throat.

"These are your witnesses?" The Patriarch's voice was deep, commanding, yet full of unbridled loathing. His cold blue eyes raked over Riley and me, and it took everything I had not to curl a lip in return. "Dragons," he stated flatly, turning back to Garret. "I should have known you would bring demons as your seconds. Can you control them, traitor? Do they understand they are not to interfere?"

I bristled. "Don't worry about us," I said. "We'll behave, as long as your soldiers remember they're not allowed to shoot us in cold blood."

"Do not fear, dragon," the Patriarch replied, making the last word sound like a curse. "They understand honor. They know what is at stake." He looked at Garret, a faint smile curling his lips, dismissing the rest of us. "I thought it fitting that your treasonous former partner be here to witness your destruction," he said in a low voice. "The true soldiers of St. George will follow the rules of this challenge and will make certain your witnesses do not interfere." His voice dropped even lower. "But know that when we are finished here St. Anthony will be punished for his role in this treachery, as well. God's judgment will extend to all."

I felt Garret's anger, saw it in the way his jaw tightened and his eyes grew hard. But his voice was calm as he answered. "Judgment has yet to be decided, sir."

"Indeed." The Patriarch nodded, and straightened. "Lieutenant Martin," he called without taking his eyes from us. "Please give Sebastian his weapon."

One of the older men approached and held out his arms. Resting in his palms was the sheath of a long, straight blade, much like the Patriarch's, with a black cross handle poking out of the leather.

Riley snorted. "Longswords?" he stated in disbelief. "I know the Order never got past their medieval glory days, but still. Are we back in the Dark Ages? Why don't you guys just mount a horse and charge each other with lances?"

Both men ignored the rogue, though the man called Martin gave him a black look, obviously not pleased with being so close to his ancient enemy. "Trial by Combat is one of the ancient rites of St. George," the Patriarch told Garret. "Therefore, we will fight as the knights did before us, long ago. No guns, no modern tricks. This shall be between two warriors in the eyes of God." He gestured to the sword. "Take your weapon, Sebastian. And don't worry about balance, or inferiority, or keenness. It is a perfectly efficient blade. I sharpened it myself."

Garret reached out and took the offered sword, then drew it from its sheath. Bared to the light, it glimmered coldly, a simple-looking weapon without color or adornment. Not as fine as the Patriarch's blade, I noticed, but I guessed a sword didn't have to look pretty. It just had to kill.

"We'll begin momentarily," Martin said, looking at Garret as he stepped back. "I suggest you use that time to prepare yourself. Pray, settle any final accounts and say your last goodbyes. The duel starts in five minutes."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note: This chapter is a little long, but I just couldn't find aa good stopping point, and I ended in earlier than I would've liked to.**_

Garret nodded. We retreated until we were about fifty feet away, well out of earshot, before Riley let out a breath and shook his head. "Well, isn't he a charming bastard," he muttered with a quick glare back at the Patriarch. "You sure you got this, St. George?"

"I don't know." Garret looked at the sword in his hand. "We've trained with knives and blades in the Order, though not as extensively as everything else. The Patriarch, though...it's said that he collects swords and medieval weapons. I have no idea if he knows how to use them." He, too, glanced at the men behind us, silhouetted against the stark white of the flats. "I guess I'll find out soon enough."

"Yeah, well, try not to get yourself killed, Sebastian." Riley's voice was begrudgingly concerned. "Flipping the Order off is a lot easier when you're around."

"Thanks," Garret said drily.

"No problem. Although, if you do get splattered into eighteen parts, that will make certain things easier for me, as well." Riley gave a slightly evil, almost triumphant grin, and his eyes glittered in the dim light. "So remember that, human, because I plan to be around for a long time. I'm not going anywhere."

I scowled at the rogue, but Garret gave him a wary, almost puzzled look. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to make certain I win," he said.

"Perish the thought, St. George," Riley said breezily. "This is a win-win situation for me. You kill the Patriarch and deal a devastating blow to the Order, awesome. You get yourself killed, the Order is still in chaos over the scandal, and I can use the confusion to make sure my underground is safe from both them and Talon. No more human, no more agonizing. Win-win."

"Riley," I growled, and the rogue gave me the most unapologetic, shit-eating grin I'd ever seen. He was, I thought in dismay, completely confident about his earlier declaration. I didn't know whether to feel angry, relieved or terrified.

"Sebastian!" the Patriarch called before either of us could respond. He had walked to the center of the field and was standing tall with his sword held at his side. "Two minutes, traitor!" he warned, as my heart jumped up and lodged in my throat. "Two minutes until God's judgment is upon us. I have made my peace with the Almighty. Have you?"

Garret looked at me. In the shadows of his gaze I saw longing and determination, and something so strong it made my stomach dance. I knew Riley was watching, but I didn't care. This was a fight to the death.

Stepping forward, I grabbed the front of his shirt, leaned up and kissed him. His arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me close, crushing me to his body. I heard Riley snort and turn away, and then I forgot about him, Talon, the Patriarch, everyone. I was only aware of this spot, this moment in time and the human in my arms.

"You'll win," I whispered as we drew back. "If there is a just God, He won't let you lose, not with what we're trying to do. But you don't need His help, Garret. You've got this. You're going to beat the Patriarch, and St. George will see him for what he really is. And then we can finally put this whole stupid mess behind us." He blinked, and I gave a wobbly smile. "Until the next catastrophe, anyway."

Garret pressed his forehead to mine. "I love you, Ember," he whispered, making my insides knot. "I never...thought I could feel this way, especially for a dragon. But, if this is the last time we're together, I want you to know. Nothing has changed since Vegas. Since Crescent Beach, really. You're still the most important thing that's ever happened to me, and if I die here trying to protect your kind from St. George, I have no regrets."

"Garret..."

"Don't say anything," he murmured, smiling a little as he pulled back. "It sounds like a goodbye, and I still need something to look forward to. To help me win. Just be waiting for me when I get back."

"I will."

He brushed a thumb across my cheek, turned and walked to the center of the ring, where the Patriarch waited in the bloody red light of the rising sun.

GARRET

I hadn't been entirely truthful.

When Riley asked me if I could handle this, I'd sidestepped the question. I'd told him I didn't know if the Patriarch could fight. That was a lie. Not only did the Patriarch collect swords and ancient weapons, he trained with them extensively. When he invoked the right of Trial by Combat, it wasn't the desperate, last-minute ploy of a man with nothing to lose. It was a strategic gamble that would give him all the advantages. I knew little of swordplay; we'd trained with blades in the Order, but it was only a small part of our education, being seen as mostly impractical and taught more for the sake of tradition than for actual use. The Patriarch probably had this plan in reserve all along, knowing that someday he might have to use it. I knew this wouldn't be an easy fight. I wasn't even certain that I could win.

But I couldn't concede. The Patriarch held the advantage in this duel, but there were too many counting on me to fail now. Including a certain fiery dragon girl who would be waiting for me when this was over. She was the reason I was doing this, the reason my life had changed. If I died here trying to change the Order, if even a few in St. George began to question things, it would be worth it.

In the center of the imaginary circle, the Patriarch waited for me, a bright, motionless statue in white and red. Martin stood to one side like a referee, facing us both, his dark figure silhouetted against the pale ground. There was no breeze, no breath of air that stirred the flats, no sound except my footsteps crunching over the salt. I halted ten feet from where my opponent stood, and for a moment, absolute silence descended over the world.

The Patriarch's cold blue eyes met mine over the arena. "Blasphemer," he said softly, the whisper full of horrified loathing, perfectly clear in the complete stillness. "Demon lover. You're enslaved to the she-devil, aren't you, Sebastian? Your soul is tainted beyond redemption. I don't know whether to hate you or pity you. But don't worry." He raised his sword very slightly, letting the light dance along the razor surface. "I'll set you free."

I almost smiled. The Patriarch's words meant nothing to me. Perhaps a few months ago, when I'd first realized I might be falling for the creature that was supposed to be my enemy, perhaps then I would have cared. But it was far too late now. I'd accepted the truth—I was in love with a dragon—and I wasn't ashamed.

"You both know the conditions." Gabriel Martin's firm, quiet voice carried over the flats. "The duel will continue until one of you concedes or is killed. There will be no interference or intervention, and no weapons except the ones you carry now. Breaching any of these rules means that you forfeit the duel. Do you both understand and accept these terms?"

"Yes," I answered, while the Patriarch simply nodded.

"Very well. The duel will start at twenty feet. When I give the signal, you will begin."

Gripping my sword, I retreated the specified length and turned as the Patriarch did the same. I could feel Ember's and Riley's stares at my back, and saw Tristan several yards away, watching with his arms crossed and a grim look on his face. Martin raised his hand, paused a moment, then clenched his fist and stepped back, getting out of the way. The duel for my life, Tristan's life and the lives of all the dragons I'd sworn to protect had officially begun.

The Patriarch sauntered forward, confident and self-assured, the blade still held at his side. But he moved with a lethal grace I'd seen all too often, in both enemies and friends. There was no question that he knew how to fight, and fight well. Raising my sword, I stepped forward to meet him.

We circled each other a moment, looking for openings, probing defenses and weaknesses. Our feet crushed salt beneath them, the noise rippling over the absolute silence as we circled warily, just studying our opponent. The Patriarch was taller, stronger and had a longer reach than me. I'd have to get well inside his guard to land a blow, while he could keep me at a distance.

"How does it feel, Sebastian?" The Patriarch's voice was barely audible, meant only for my ears. "To be completely enslaved to the lizards? To know your soul is damned, but there is nothing you can do about it?"

I narrowed my eyes, circling just outside his reach. "Who are we speaking about?" I answered in an equally low voice. "Me, or yourself?"

The Patriarch gave a weary chuckle. "I know my soul is damned," he said tiredly. "I am fully aware that I've made a deal with the devil, and the time will come when I must stand before God and answer for my crimes. But I am still the leader of this Order, and I can still eliminate our enemies. One day, I will break free of this contract, but for now, our enemies are dying and will continue to die as long as I am here to oversee it. Every death pushes the devils closer to extinction. That is worth the cost of my soul."

Abruptly, the Patriarch lunged, sweeping his sword at my head. I leaped back, smacking the blade away, the clang of steel on steel ringing out in the silence. The Patriarch swung again, and I brought my sword up to block, but abruptly he twisted it and came in from another direction. I dodged, but the tip scored my face, right below my eye. Scrambling away, I braced for more attacks, but the Patriarch stopped and lowered his blade, smiling at his handiwork.

"First blood to me," he said in satisfaction. "I hope you prayed before you came here, soldier."

I took a steadying breath, weighing my options. That he was playing with me was troubling; he obviously knew more about swordplay than I did and was content to stretch this duel out for as long as he could. Or until I made a fatal mistake. I could feel blood trickling down my face and resisted the urge to wipe it away, keeping my attention on my opponent. I couldn't banter with him. The longer we sparred, the smaller my chances of victory became. If I was going to beat the Patriarch, I had to do it now.

I lunged savagely, cutting at his face, making him blink and step back to avoid it. Quickly, I pressed that small advantage with an upward slice that made him retreat another step. I pursued him across the field with a series of slashes and cuts, intending to overwhelm him and give him no chance to recover.

The Patriarch smiled. Parrying a slash, he sidestepped with the motion, appearing behind me in a blindingly quick move, and brought his weapon slicing across my back. I felt the bite of the sword edge rip through my shirt a second before the pain hit and I stifled a yell of agony. I whirled, barely managing to keep my feet, as the Patriarch stepped forward and casually pointed the tip of his sword at my face.

"Yield, soldier," he said. "The fight is lost. I promise to give you a quick death if you renounce your blasphemous crimes and beg forgiveness of the Order. Put down your sword, and I will end your pain and send you to God with a clean conscience. Your dragon friends would not do the same."

"No," I panted, raising my sword as I backed up a few steps. My back and left shoulder burned like they were on fire, and every motion sent a fresh stab of pain up my spine. It was a long, shallow gash, parting muscle and skin, more painful than deadly. I could still stand, and if I could stand, I could fight. I would not yield. I would see this through to the end, for her.

The Patriarch shook his head. "Why do you continue to protect them, Sebastian?" he asked. "They are not deserving of such loyalty. They are creatures. Monsters. They imitate us in order to infiltrate our world, our loved ones and our way of life. To corrupt it from within."

"You're wrong."

"The world does not belong to them," he continued, as if I hadn't said anything. "The world belongs to man, as God intended it to be." He stabbed the point of his blade at the edge of the circle, where Ember and Riley watched helplessly from the side. "They are not human, Sebastian. They don't have souls, they don't feel like we do. They are born of darkness and can never understand us. The only thing they know is how to manipulate and kill."

"That isn't true," I gritted out. "Different doesn't mean evil. Some of those dragons want nothing to do with the war. Some of them just want to survive. If you would just talk to one of them, you would understand that."

"Spoken like a true dragonlover." The Patriarch's mild expression faded, growing hard. "I should have known you would turn on us. It was only a matter of time. It was in your blood, after all." He shook his head, his features twisting with hate. "Like mother, like son."

It felt like he'd punched me. For a moment, I could only stare at him, reeling, while he stood there with a faint smile on his face, knowing he'd just destroyed my whole perception of reality with one casual statement.

"What are you talking about?" I finally asked, and amazingly, my voice came out mostly steady. "My parents...they were killed by Talon."

"Yes, they were," the Patriarch agreed, stalking forward. "Because they both worked for the dragons. Because, intentional or not, they chose to serve evil and turn their backs on their fellow man." He gave me another look of pity and loathing. "Your parents were dragon servants, soldier. They were employees of Talon."


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note: Nothing belongs to me, it all belongs to the amazingly talented Ms. Kagawa.**_

He came at me hard, lunging across the flats, his sword a streak of metal through the air. Still dazed from having my entire world shattered, I barely got my blade up in time to parry. The Patriarch's sword screeched as it hammered into mine, sending vibrations up my arm. I staggered, and the sword clanged against mine again, knocking it away. And then there was a second fiery pain, as the Patriarch's sword sliced into my leg, cutting through cloth and flesh and biting deep.

Gasping, I reeled away, scrambling to put distance between myself and the Patriarch, but my leg buckled and I fell, rolling several feet before coming to an agonizing stop. Salt shards cut at my bare arms, burning into scrapes and open wounds, but it was nothing compared to what my leg was feeling at the moment. Blood blossomed over my jeans, warm and sluggish, staining the material black.

Gripping my sword, I looked around for the Patriarch, but he hadn't pursued. He watched me stagger upright with a triumphant look in his eyes. One way or another, he knew the fight was nearly done. Clenching my teeth as my torn muscles screamed in protest, I planted my feet and raised my sword, facing the Patriarch again.

"It's over, Sebastian," he stated, walking forward. "Do you have any final words before I send you to hell?"

Something clicked in my head, and for a second, the world seemed to stop. A memory, jarred loose from the shadows of my mind.

The dragon loomed overhead, dark and terrifying, yellow eyes glowing in the smoke and the gloom. It was close enough for me to see every scale on its massive body, smell the sulfur and ash that clung to it, feel the hot breath curling from huge, fang-filled jaws. It gazed down with impassive gold eyes, a nightmare creature regarding the small boy and his mother at its feet. It blinked once, rumbled deep in its belly and stepped aside, dismissing us. And then, everything fragmented.

A burst of gunfire.

My mother jerking up with a gasp, then falling on top of me.

The howls and screams of the dragon, mixed with more chattering gunfire, the shouting of men and the hiss of fire being extinguished by the rain.

The memory flared and was gone in an instant, a split second between breaths, but it was enough. I gaped at the man before me, momentarily forgetting the pain of my wounds. "It was you," I rasped, as the aftermath of that scene came back in a flood, finally breaking through the wall that held it at bay. "My parents weren't killed by dragons. They were killed by the Order! And you knew! All this time, St. George has lied to me. My whole life, they let me believe my family was murdered by Talon, when it was the Order all along."

The Patriarch's eyes glittered. "I should have ordered them to shoot you then and there," he said. "The mission was to kill every living soul in that compound, regardless of age or gender. But the commander leading the raid begged me for permission to bring you into the Order, to raise you as a soldier for the cause. He thought you could be saved, or perhaps he was simply reluctant to kill one so young." Very briefly, his gaze flickered to Gabriel Martin and narrowed with contempt. "Only a few knew your true lineage. It was kept a secret in the hopes that you would fully embrace our Code and become a soldier of St. George. That you would rise above your heritage and shake whatever evil lay within your soul." He shook his head. "But once a dragon slave, always a dragon slave, it seems. I should have realized your betrayal was only a matter of time."

Another memory jarred loose. Rain and mud and fire, me huddled beside the motionless body of my mother, hoping she would wake up soon so we could go home. A shadow falling over me, as I gazed into the stern, younger face of Lucas Benedict. And all the confusion, shock, pain and disbelief melted into a sudden blinding, fiery rage.

"So, we come full circle," the Patriarch was saying, raising his sword as he closed in. "Talon's wayward son shows his true colors at last. And now, I will finish what I should have done all those years ago, and send you to your masters where you belong!"

He lunged, bringing that sword down at my neck. I forgot my pain, forgot my mission, forgot everything but the image of my mother's body, lying there in the mud. I reacted on instinct, dodging to the side and turning my body so that the blow missed me by millimeters. For just a moment, the Patriarch was off balance, and I slashed at him with everything I had left.

He turned, managing to block the blade, but the force hammered through his guard, and his own sword struck him in the face. Without a sound, he tumbled backward, hitting the ground on his side, the sword coming free of his grip. Almost immediately, he pushed himself to his knees, but before he got any farther, I staggered forward and put the tip of my blade against his throat.

"Yield."

He froze. The metal point hovered at his neck, resting against his skin. He stared at me almost in shock. Blood streamed down his face from the gash in his forehead, staining the collar of his white uniform. My leg shook, pain hammering through my muscles from the abuse, but I stood tall and kept the sword steady as I locked eyes with the Patriarch.

"Yield," I said again, and his face darkened, his expression twisting with hate.

"I will not."

"Then I'm sorry."

I raised the sword to sweep it down through his neck. It would be quick, I told myself. One more death on my hands. One more unforgivable sin, but perhaps it would be enough to end the slaughter. Or at least, start things in the right direction.

"Stop!" the Patriarch hissed, just as I was about to bring the blade down. I looked at his face and saw it was white with the sudden realization that I had been entirely serious about killing him. "Stop," he said again, slumping in defeat. "I concede. The fight is yours."

Relief swept through me, taking with it the adrenaline that had been keeping me upright through most of the fight. I staggered back from the Patriarch, thankful it was over, feeling my wounds throb and my leg threaten to buckle with every step I took. I saw Tristan and Gabriel Martin walking toward us, neither of them looking particularly happy, though Tristan did manage a tiny nod as our gazes met. Shuddering, I let my sword fall, thumping to the salt. It was over. What happened to the Patriarch now was out of my hands. I would worry about the aftermath, and what it meant for the Order, when I was a little less bloody.

"Garret!"

That voice did bring a smile to my face. I turned, and saw Ember and Riley coming toward me from the opposite end of the arena. Ember was out front, grinning at me, Riley following a few steps behind with a look of reluctant relief.

Still smiling, I took a few steps toward them, then paused as Ember's eyes went wide, her expression shifting to alarm.

"Garret, behind you—!"

I turned as shots rang out in the stillness.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Author's note: nothing belongs to me, it all belongs to the wonderful Ms. Kagawa._**

Another memory jarred loose. Rain and mud and fire, me huddled beside the motionless body of my mother, hoping she would wake up soon so we could go home. A shadow falling over me, as I gazed into the stern, younger face of Lucas Benedict. And all the confusion, shock, pain and disbelief melted into a sudden blinding, fiery rage.

"So, we come full circle," the Patriarch was saying, raising his sword as he closed in. "Talon's wayward son shows his true colors at last. And now, I will finish what I should have done all those years ago, and send you to your masters where you belong!"

He lunged, bringing that sword down at my neck. I forgot my pain, forgot my mission, forgot everything but the image of my mother's body, lying there in the mud. I reacted on instinct, dodging to the side and turning my body so that the blow missed me by millimeters. For just a moment, the Patriarch was off balance, and I slashed at him with everything I had left.

He turned, managing to block the blade, but the force hammered through his guard, and his own sword struck him in the face. Without a sound, he tumbled backward, hitting the ground on his side, the sword coming free of his grip. Almost immediately, he pushed himself to his knees, but before he got any farther, I staggered forward and put the tip of my blade against his throat.

"Yield."

He froze. The metal point hovered at his neck, resting against his skin. He stared at me almost in shock. Blood streamed down his face from the gash in his forehead, staining the collar of his white uniform. My leg shook, pain hammering through my muscles from the abuse, but I stood tall and kept the sword steady as I locked eyes with the Patriarch.

"Yield," I said again, and his face darkened, his expression twisting with hate.

"I will not."

"Then I'm sorry."

I raised the sword to sweep it down through his neck. It would be quick, I told myself. One more death on my hands. One more unforgivable sin, but perhaps it would be enough to end the slaughter. Or at least, start things in the right direction.

"Stop!" the Patriarch hissed, just as I was about to bring the blade down. I looked at his face and saw it was white with the sudden realization that I had been entirely serious about killing him. "Stop," he said again, slumping in defeat. "I concede. The fight is yours."

Relief swept through me, taking with it the adrenaline that had been keeping me upright through most of the fight. I staggered back from the Patriarch, thankful it was over, feeling my wounds throb and my leg threaten to buckle with every step I took. I saw Tristan and Gabriel Martin walking toward us, neither of them looking particularly happy, though Tristan did manage a tiny nod as our gazes met. Shuddering, I let my sword fall, thumping to the salt. It was over. What happened to the Patriarch now was out of my hands. I would worry about the aftermath, and what it meant for the Order, when I was a little less bloody.

"Garret!"

That voice did bring a smile to my face. I turned, and saw Ember and Riley coming toward me from the opposite end of the arena. Ember was out front, grinning at me, Riley following a few steps behind with a look of reluctant relief.

Still smiling, I took a few steps toward them, then paused as Ember's eyes went wide, her expression shifting to alarm.

"Garret, behind you—!"

I turned as shots rang out in the stillness.

EMBER

He'd won.

The breath rushed out of me, making me kind of giddy with relief. I'd kept telling myself he would win. I mean, it was Garret. The Perfect Soldier. He had saved us from an ambush, led a counterstrike against the Order of St. George and had marched into an entire assembly of those who wanted him dead, only to come out of it triumphant. Even after he'd been wounded, I knew he could still pull it off. He'd done it before. He had to win.

But then the Patriarch started talking, telling him things that made my heart pound with shock and horror. I heard Riley swear in disbelief, saw the blood drain from Garret's face as the Patriarch told him he was once part of Talon. That his parents had been servants of the organization. For just a moment, Garret had faltered. And the Patriarch instantly took advantage of it, lunging in and stabbing the soldier while he was off balance. This time, the wound wasn't a glancing blow, but sank deep into his leg, making me cringe. Garret staggered and fell, crumpling to the unforgiving salt, and the heat flaring through my veins was immediate and intense.

He's going to die. For a moment, it took everything I had not to Shift. Not to burst into dragon form, fly to his side and char the Patriarch into an unrecognizable husk. No! Stop it, Ember, I told myself, biting my lip to keep the dragon in check. You can't help him. You'll forfeit everything we worked for if you interfere now. And you made him a promise.

My throat felt tight as I watched him climb to his feet, keeping weight off his left leg. Blood had already soaked his jeans, and his bearing was rigid with pain. The Patriarch advanced on him slowly, his expression triumphant, his blade coming up for the final rush. I trembled and clenched my fists, feeling claws start to poke through my skin, the breath in my throat start to burn.

"Ember." Riley's fingers closed on my arms from behind, his voice full of warning. "Steady, Firebrand," he whispered. "Don't do anything reckless. We can't go in there, no matter what happens."

Rage flared, but before I could say anything stupid or accusatory, he added, "And no, I don't want him dead, so don't even think of throwing that that in my face. I am fully aware of what is at stake. But if we go in there, we're not only forfeiting the battle, we're showing St. George that dragons can't be trusted. That we're the soulless, evil monsters they believe us to be. And then the war will never be over."

"I know," I choked out, watching the Patriarch taunt Garret one last time, wanting nothing more than to lunge between them and take whatever killing blow was coming. "Dammit. I know I can't help him."

"Don't look," Riley murmured, squeezing my arms. "Turn away if you have to, Firebrand. I'll tell you when it's over."

I shook my head. Though my insides felt like they were being shredded, I wouldn't turn from him now. If the Patriarch killed Garret right in front of me, I wanted to see it. I wanted to remember this moment, because when it was over and we'd all left this arena of slaughter, I was going to hunt the Patriarch down and turn him into a pile of ashes. And no guards, rogue dragons or army of dragonslayers were going to stand in my way.

The Patriarch lunged, swinging his blade at the wounded soldier, and I flinched. But Garret moved with shocking speed, ducking under the blow and cutting at his opponent in return. The Patriarch blocked the sword but, amazingly, was knocked off his feet, sprawling to his side in the dirt and salt, the blade sliding from his grasp. Garret instantly followed his advantage, placing the blade against the man's throat and demanding his surrender.

The Patriarch snarled his refusal. Holding my breath, I watched Garret raise his sword to execute his opponent, but hesitated as the Patriarch's desperate voice broke the silence, yielding the fight at last.

Garret staggered back, lowering his blade, and my heart lurched into motion again. It was over. He was alive, and we had won.


End file.
